


fingertips have memories

by omg_wtf_yeah



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, Pre-Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 08:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omg_wtf_yeah/pseuds/omg_wtf_yeah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myka loves Helena’s fingers. She admires their deftness and grace, how they wrote out the stories that captured Myka’s imagination when she was a kid. (Preslash)</p>
            </blockquote>





	fingertips have memories

Myka loves Helena’s fingers. She admires their deftness and grace, how they wrote out the stories that captured Myka’s imagination when she was a kid. She spent more than a little time with a fifties reprint of the _Time Machine_ spread out on the floor between her elbows in the aisles of her father’s bookshop. She admires them with a breathless sort of wild abandon when she spies Helena scratching out a note at Artie’s desk (even if, when Myka peeks over Helena’s shoulder, she sees it’s just a daily agenda instead of a new, modern masterpiece). 

Myka can’t help but get caught up. And when she is, her surreptitious, sideways glance is riveted to how cleverly Helena’s fingers lay open a broken Tesla and bridge this circuit with that length of copper wire. She bites her lip and wonders when, exactly, she became so enamored of watching Helena’s hands work but it’s hard to pinpoint and for some reason, it reminds Myka of the feeling of Helena’s fingers brushing the back of her hand as Myka tied her to the chair in Helena’s house in England, back in the beginning. And it couldn’t possibly be then that she first noticed the easy, supple genius of Helena’s hands. It couldn’t be then because that would mean that Myka has been Helena’s all along and Myka just can’t fathom that idea. Not when Myka recoils from possession the way an unbroken horse refuses the bit. 

But still, Myka’s mind goes back there when she lies in bed in the Bed & Breakfast. Her thoughts linger on Helena, her cheeky grin and her wild brilliance. She feels those things like an instinct – an unknown law of gravity that pulls Myka in, that pulls Myka’s thoughts _back_. 

Myka tangles her fingers around the edge of her headboard and taps her fingers against her bottom lip, slides the flat of her nails against her mouth from corner to corner. She thinks about the soft brush of Helena’s knuckles over the side of her hand and imagines Helena’s fingers ghosting over her body. Helena grinning over a nameless conquest as she presses their body to her bed (Myka doesn’t quite dare think about Helena pressing _her_ down with Helena down the hall). She doesn’t doubt for a second that Helena would be as bright and as clever and inventive in bed as she is everywhere else. 

It’s all too easy to imagine. And that’s all it is, anyway – imagining. Because Myka won’t let herself be hurt again. It doesn’t hurt to imagine. It’s just the opposite – her thoughts return to Helena, to Helena’s fingers joyously tapping the rhythm of an Elvis song on Myka’s dashboard as she listened to it (for the first time) in Myka’s car, and a radiant tumult fills Myka. She smiles to herself, her heart filling with the thought of her. She trails her fingertips over her cheek, her thumb over her arched eyebrow, and dares to imagine Helena’s fingers tracing Myka’s thoughts. 

What Myka loves best about Helena’s fingers…every brief, stolen touch feels like a kiss she hasn’t yet had.

**Author's Note:**

> This is birthday fic for Willowezra. The title is from [Flagpole Sitta by Harvey Danger](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2GBoxdee52A).


End file.
